


Until it got the best of you

by jacksbits (fragilehuge)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bitty has a big dick, M/M, that's it that's the premise of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilehuge/pseuds/jacksbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s warm underneath his blankets, though, and Jack feels content and sort of dozy, like he could fall right back asleep. He cracks open his eyes just as Bitty pushes open the door.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Bittle looks mostly asleep himself, shuffling his feet, hair sleep-mussed. Jack’s eyes sweep over his body, down over his tiny shorts, settling on—on his—oh<b> fuck</b>.</i>
</p><p>Jack lets Bitty share his bathroom. It gets more complicated than Jack anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until it got the best of you

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure everyone’s seen the awesome [Haus diagram](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/image/105791740527) Ngozi made, but it was instrumental in the inspiration and writing of this fic, so I thought I’d link it. Thanks so much to [Chloe](http://ziimbits.tumblr.com) for the thorough and speedy beta! Title from “Fear” by Boy.

It all starts when the second upstairs bathroom breaks. 

Bittle is complaining about it while they’re walking home after class one morning. The team has early practice on Mondays, and they both have class right after in sort of the same direction on campus. It makes sense to walk together. Bittle’s professor never lets her class out on time, so Jack always has to wait for a couple of minutes outside the building until he gets out. It’s not a big deal, though. Jack never minds the wait. 

“It’s annoying going up and down the stairs all the time,” Bittle says. “But it wouldn’t be half so bad if Ransom and Holster would just _tell me what they did._ ” 

Jack has only ever used the other bathroom once, when Shitty was using theirs and he was really desperate. One time was enough: it was pretty gross, and Jack’s avoided it ever since. That was back when it was Ransom, Holster, and Johnson using it, though. Maybe it’d be a little better now that Bittle's moved in—he’s definitely neater than Johnson—but Jack’s never actually checked. 

According to Bittle, however, the toilet bowl no longer fills with water and both taps on the sink have been broken off. Jack isn’t sure exactly when it happened, but from the way Bittle’s talking about it, it has to have been broken for at least a couple of days. 

“At least the shower works,” Bittle mutters. “I guess it could be worse.” 

Jack frowns. He feels weirdly guilty for not knowing about any of this, even though that’s stupid. There was no way for him to know. 

“You should have told me,” Jack says. “When it first happened, I mean.” 

“What?” Bittle looks up at Jack, then away. “Why? It’s not a big deal. Good exercise, I guess. I don’t really mind. I called about it this morning, the plumber’s supposed to come in a couple of days. I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” Jack’s still frowning. 

Bittle huffs out a sigh. “Ransom and Holster didn’t know who to call, so I got the number from Johnson. The plumber seemed weird over the phone. But he’s _coming._ I think, uh, eventually.” 

Jack thinks about Bittle having to go up and down the stairs just to use the bathroom or brush his teeth or get a cup of water. 

“Use my bathroom,” Jack says. “In the meantime.” 

Bittle laughs. “It’s awfully sweet of you to offer, but I don’t want to intrude. I’d have to walk through your room.” 

The fact that there isn’t a hallway entrance is one of Jack’s favorite things about his bathroom. It means that drunk partygoers never find it. Besides that, it’s easier to keep clean because it’s just Jack and Shitty using it. But Jack still doesn’t like the idea of Bittle being so inconvenienced all the time. 

“It’s fine,” Jack says. “You can walk through my room.” 

Bittle laughs again, but then he says, “Well, I guess I can use y’all’s bathroom to brush my teeth, at least. Then I wouldn't have to carry everything downstairs.” 

“Yeah,” Jack says. ”Use it whenever.” 

“Thanks, Jack,” Bittle says, and then smoothly changes the subject to the frogs. He’s worried about them, and Jack listens to Bittle talk all the way home. 

\- 

Bittle brushes his teeth in Jack’s bathroom that night. He knocks beforehand and doesn’t come in until Jack gets up to open the door for him. Bittle’s probably being shy about it, even though there’s no reason to be. He’s always so worried that he’s going to bother people, but he’s not a bother. Jack thinks he just needs to mention it again, so Bittle knows he’s serious. 

He gets his chance when they’re walking into the Haus together after lunch with Shitty and Chowder. Jack pauses in front of his door before Bittle can get into his room, knocking his knuckles against the doorframe to get Bittle’s attention. 

Bittle looks up, hand on the doorknob to his room. 

“Don’t forget, eh?” Jack says. “About the bathroom. I'll leave my door open.” 

Bittle looks surprised for a moment, but then he says, “Okay, Jack,” so that probably settles it. 

\- 

A couple of hours later, Jack hears a light tapping at his door. It was already slightly ajar, but Bittle doesn’t immediately push it all the way open, so Jack tells him to come in. 

Jack’s sitting in the chair under his window doing some reading for class. He glances up as Bittle comes in, and Bittle smiles in a kind of greeting and then looks away. He seems a little embarrassed about walking through Jack’s room, but at least he does it. Jack's glad. 

A minute later, Jack hears the toilet flush and the faucet turn on and off. He looks up again as Bittle comes out. 

“Hey,” Jack says. 

Bittle stops short at the sound of Jack’s voice, but he recovers a second later, turns around to lean his hip on the doorframe. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

Jack sort of shrugs. “Doing some homework. Do you know when everyone’s eating?” 

It’s only five, and he’s not really hungry yet. Jack’s not sure why he says it. Just something to say, maybe. 

“Dunno,” Bittle says. “Probably in an hour or so. I can come get you before we go?” 

“Sounds good,” Jack says. 

Bittle nods a little, then leaves the room, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. 

Jack stares down at his book. He flips through the pages a little, restless for no real reason. There’s only about ten pages left in the chapter. 

It takes him a long time to finish. 

\- 

The next couple of times Bittle comes through, he seems more comfortable. He always raps his knuckles against Jack’s door before he comes in, but he starts pushing the door open right away without waiting for Jack’s affirmative noise. It's good. Jack wants him to feel comfortable. 

Bittle even comes in when Jack’s dozing off the next night. It’s not that late but Jack usually turns in early, and Bittle must realize that Jack’s already in bed because there's no knock before the door starts to slowly creak open. 

Jack doesn’t move, mostly asleep, but he squints his eyes open enough to see Bittle looking into the room, hesitating for just a moment at the threshold. He’s in his pajamas, one of the pairs of shorts that he always wears to bed. Tonight they're white with vertical blue stripes. Bittle’s white tank top rides up a little above the shorts, and Jack closes his eyes. 

Bittle opens the bathroom door carefully, obviously trying not to make noise, and Jack feels his lips tug into something like a smile. 

He’s asleep before he hears Bitty leave. 

\- 

The thing is, Jack didn’t anticipate there being a problem. 

On Thursday, the plumber reschedules for Monday, saying something like, “You guys need a couple more days, I can tell,” which would make no sense at all, except for how he’s the guy Johnson recommended, and Jack has long known not to question anything related to Johnson. 

Bittle sounds apologetic when he tells Jack about the plumber, but it isn’t a big deal. Jack doesn’t actually care when the other bathroom gets fixed. As far as Jack is concerned, Bittle can use his bathroom whenever. It’s fine. 

To be fair, it does start out fine. 

It’s fine for exactly four days. 

On the fifth day, Jack wakes up when he hears Bittle’s door open in the hallway. It’s early, and Jack’s a light sleeper, especially in the mornings. He can never stay asleep if there are other people up and moving around in the Haus. It’s not generally a problem, though, since Jack’s normally the first one up. Jack doesn’t know what time it is when he hears Bittle’s door open, but it has to be early since Jack’s alarm hasn’t gone off yet. 

It’s warm underneath his blankets, though, and Jack feels content and sort of dozy, like he could fall right back asleep. He cracks open his eyes just as Bitty pushes open the door. 

Bittle looks mostly asleep himself, shuffling his feet, hair sleep-mussed. Jack’s eyes sweep over his body, down over his tiny shorts, settling on—on his—oh _fuck._

Jack is instantly, horribly turned on, because Bittle’s hard. And his dick looks… _huge._

Jack doesn’t know what to do or think at all. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this embarrassed, and it’s so _stupid_ , but the fabric of Bittle’s shorts just seems unreasonably thin. There’s no good reason why Bittle’s shorts should be as tight as they are. The line of his cock is so fucking obvious. 

Jack has time to think, _Honestly, it’s indecent_ , and then Bittle’s shutting the door to the bathroom. 

Jack’s hot all over. The air under his sheets has gone humid, clinging damply to his thighs. It was probably just an illusion or something, Jack makes himself think. It was just how tight those shorts were. That was what made it look so— _fuck_. Jack closes his eyes. He can’t stop thinking about it. 

It’s just morning wood, is the thing. It’s not like Bittle was, was _aroused_ , or something. He just needed to pee. For god’s sake, it’s not like Jack caught him jerking off. There’s no reason to make this into some kind of sexual thing. 

But Jack can’t believe how—Bittle’s cock looked _enormous,_ and somehow Jack thinks he should have known. He’s seen Shitty naked more times than he can count, and Ransom and Holster have had several loud arguments about who’s bigger (“Come on, man, you've _seen_ it, stop lying in front of everyone—guys, come look, you have to judge for us—”). Dex and Nursey had to do a naked lap around the Haus at the beginning of the semester when neither of them made a single shot in a game of beer pong. Plus, hockey. The showers at Faber are in little stalls with curtains, not one big open space, but it’s not like the curtains are really wide enough reach both edges of the stall at the same time. Most of the guys just haphazardly yank the curtain over when they shower there after practice. After playing together for so long, hardly anyone even makes a token attempt at modesty anymore. 

So, Jack is at least peripherally aware of most of the team’s dicks. He just feels _blindsided_ about this. It seems like he should have known. 

The toilet flushes and Jack absolutely freezes, heart pounding. He looks up through his eyelashes as the bathroom door opens, and… Bittle’s erection is gone, obviously. He peed, and that's what happens when you have morning wood and you pee. It’s not like it matters, it’s not like Jack is disappointed, it’s just that he wanted to… check, or something. Just to be sure he’d seen everything right. 

He feels like an absolute creep. 

Jack squeezes his eyes shut. He’s completely awake now, and he can’t get the image out of his head. Bittle in those little shorts, the line of his hard, huge cock… Jack keeps imagining saying, _hey_ , and Bittle turning around to lean his hip on the frame of the door. Maybe Bittle would smirk down at him, eyebrows raised, letting him look— 

Jack snaps his eyes open. The alarm clock on his desk says it’s 5:16am. He makes himself stand up, then he turns off the alarm so that it won’t go off later. He’d be getting up pretty soon, anyway. And there’s no way he can fall back asleep now. 

Jack takes a shower, ends up fisting his cock in his hand, and he doesn’t let himself think about anything. 

Well, he tries not to think about anything. 

\- 

The whole rest of Jack’s day is weird. 

It’s a Friday, so they have morning practice, and Jack feels like his face must be bright red the whole time because he keeps thinking about how _no one else knows_ , and Bittle’s _right there._ He misses a couple of passes he should have gotten. At one point Shitty claps a hand on his shoulder, concerned. 

“You good, bro?” 

“Yeah,” Jack says, and grits his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate. 

He goes to class after that and manages to mostly pay attention, but then he gets back to the Haus and everyone is hanging out in the living room. They’re watching some TV show and all talking over each other, but several voices shout out a greeting when Jack comes in. He waves, then goes upstairs to drop his backpack in his room. 

Jack doesn’t really know if he feels like going back downstairs to hang out. He’s been tense all day, and mostly he just wants to curl up in his room and not think about anything. The volume downstairs makes Jack think most of them are kind of drunk already, even though it's only like 5:30. That’s not all that unusual—they always start early if they’re drinking on a Friday before a game, because then they can still go to sleep early and be well-rested in the morning—but being around drinking and yelling seems kind of overwhelming to Jack right now. 

It feels kind of weird to not hang out, though, at least for a little while, so Jack goes downstairs. There’s limited space in the living room with so many of them piled in there already. Ransom, Holster, Lardo, and Nursey are squeezed in together on the couch, and Bittle’s in the big armchair he likes because it’s not the couch. Chowder and Shitty are on the floor in front of the couch, and Dex is in a chair he dragged in from the kitchen. The only real spot available is on the arm of the big chair that Bittle’s sitting in. A week ago, Jack would have sat there immediately without thinking about it. 

Now, though, he hesitates. He could still probably sit on the floor, even though Chowder and Shitty both have the best floor spots already, where they can lean back against everyone’s legs. 

Jack hates to sit on the floor, though, and he never does it. He sets his jaw and goes to sit on the arm of Bittle’s chair. It’s a normal place for him to sit. They’ve sat like this dozens of times before. Besides, Jack’s determined not to let this… thing make him act differently. Bittle’s the same guy he always was, and they're friends. Jack’s not going to treat him differently when he’s done nothing wrong. 

It’s kind of agonizing, though, to be perched above Bittle like this. They’re close, even though they’re not actually touching, and every time Jack glances down he can't help noticing the way Bittle’s sweatpants are bunched up in his lap. 

Jack makes himself look away, toward the couch. Lardo’s braiding Shitty’s hair. Chowder’s trying to stop Holster from dropping little rolled up bits of paper into his open beer can. Jack smiles to himself, glancing down at his hands, and his eyes get tripped up on Bittle’s lap again. 

It’s just the way he’s sitting, probably—Bittle has his legs folded up in the chair, halfway beneath him. Jack looks down, decides the fabric's just bunched up because _Bittle’s_ bunched up. It’s nothing. It’s just the angle Jack’s sitting at, kind of hovering over Bittle, that’s making him get so distracted. It’s not like he’s _trying_ to look. It just keeps happening by accident. 

At one point, Bittle looks up at him, says, “Hey, Jack?” and Jack freezes up, snapping his gaze to Bittle’s eyes and then away again. Bittle's face is so sweet and open, gazing up at him, and it makes Jack nervous. 

“Yeah?” Jack asks, finally, remember he needs to say something. 

“Want a piece of pie? I’m about to get up.” 

“Oh,” Jack says. “Sure, thank you.” 

Bittle smiles at him, chirps, “Don’t even care what kind it is?” which makes Shitty yell, “Oh, shut up, Bitty, you know all of your pie is perfect.” 

Bittle blushes and stands, and Chowder asks if he can have a piece, too. 

“You all already had your pie,” Bittle says, but his face softens and he adds, “But you know I can’t say no to you, Chowder.” 

A minute later, from the kitchen, Bittle shouts, “Well, that’s the end of it! Hope all y’all had your fill!” 

Chowder fist pumps about being the only one to get a second piece, and there’s general complaining from the rest of the room that they have _not_ had their fill. Ransom requests that Bittle make a peach pie next. It’s nice—normal—and Jack’s glad he came downstairs, even though he still feels kind of tense and weird. 

When Bittle comes back with the last two pieces of pie, he gives Jack the bigger piece. 

\- 

It doesn’t get better. It actually just keeps getting worse. 

They have a game on Saturday, and they barely manage to win 1-0 in regulation. The other team isn’t great, but Jack’s playing so badly that it feels evenly matched. Jack loses the puck more than once, eyes caught tracking Bittle’s movements instead of following the game. It's only the strength of their defense that keeps them from losing—Chowder’s beaming by the end of the game, but Jack feels like shit. In the locker room, Coach Hall just claps Jack on the shoulder and tells him to get some sleep. 

It’s just as bad when they’re not playing. Jack gets flustered every time Bittle comes through his room to use the bathroom, even though there’s absolutely no reason to be weird about it. He tries everything he can think of to get the whole thing out of his head. 

At first, Jack just attempts to reason with himself. The whole thing is stupid. There’s no way it can really be as big as he’s remembering. Bittle’s relatively short, so it must have been the juxtaposition of Bittle’s small frame with his… Anyway, it’s just that it probably only looked big by comparison, is all. It's not a big deal. There’s absolutely no reason to obsess over it. There’s also no reason that that line of thinking should lead to Jack wishing he could see Bittle’s dick again, maybe without the shorts, just so he’d be sure about what he saw, but it does, and it’s not productive. 

Jack tries forcing himself not to think about it, but that doesn’t work at all. He also tries _letting_ himself think about it—sweating in his bedroom with the door locked, fingers slicked up and imaging it’s Bittle’s cock that’s twisting into—Anyway, that _really_ doesn’t work. 

He thinks about trying to avoid Bittle, because part of the problem is that they hang out _all the time_. Bittle’s this constant presence, and it’s sort of weird that Jack never noticed it before. It would probably be a good idea to just take a little break, he thinks, to spend a little less time with him until this whole thing passes. But Jack doesn’t _want_ to spend less time with Bittle. They’re friends; Jack likes him. He’s not going to let some stupid obsession ruin one of the most important friendships in his life. 

It’s just… Jack likes getting fucked. It’s mostly something he doesn’t think about anymore, but he’s known it about himself for a long time. 

It was during that first, intense relationship with Kent that he realized it. When they first got together, it was like a switch flipped somewhere in Jack’s brain, and Kent was suddenly all he could think about—Kent’s mouth, Kent’s hands, Kent inside him, everywhere, until Jack didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, just that he needed Kent there with him. 

In Jack’s memory it seems like they were friends and then more than friends in the space of hours—Kent saying, “Hey, Zimms, good workout,” with a hand on his shoulder, and then later that night, drunk and inside each other’s space, Jack whispering clumsily into Kent’s ear that they should go somewhere. He was getting wasted all the time back then, and Jack knows there's probably a lot that he doesn’t remember correctly. It might not be true that both of those things happened on the same day. Jack can’t be sure. The only thing that he remembers completely clearly about that time with Kent is how much he wanted it. 

Looking back, Jack can see that intensity wasn’t good for either of them. It was awful when it ended, when Jack almost died and Kent went away. But all of it was Jack’s own fault. He acted so recklessly, doing whatever he wanted without any kind of inhibition. He can see it now, how one thing led to another. 

It was years before Jack could even think about being with anyone else. When he finally could, he was enrolling at Samwell. That first year of college, he hooked up with a few different guys—people he met at parties who didn’t care at all about hockey—but it wasn’t really the same. Those guys were strangers, and Jack found he couldn’t really get into it with people he didn’t know. 

That was okay, though. Jack just figured he wasn’t into casual sex, and that was fine. It left more time to focus on hockey. After that, he hardly ever thought about it. 

Jack doesn’t know why it’s suddenly different now. 

\- 

Jack wakes up Sunday morning when Bittle opens his door in the hallway, but this time Jack’s facing the wall. He lies there frozen, listening as Bittle comes into his room. Every sound is so loud in Jack’s ears, his own breathing seems deafening, completely obvious. He’s too afraid to move, but he wants to, so badly. All Jack wants to do turn over, to _see_ , but he doesn’t want Bittle to notice and realize he’s awake. 

Jack doesn’t even _know_ if Bittle was hard like before, and he still ends up sweating and frustrated, jerking off roughly after Bittle’s gone. 

It’s clear to Jack that the situation has gotten completely out of hand. At least the plumber’s supposed to be coming soon. Then it can all go back to normal. Everything’s going to be fine. 

\- 

Of course, the next week is total shit. 

Jack manages to pull it together at practice Monday morning—hockey’s too important, and Jack can’t let himself fuck it up all over again over exactly the same shit—but it feels like his classes take forever. Jack’s more restless than he’s been in a long time, zoning out badly in his second lecture wondering if he could fit Bitty’s entire dick in his mouth. His notes end up scrawled unevenly down the page, completely outside the lines and overlapping in places. They’re almost completely illegible, and Jack has to force himself not to rip the page out of his notebook and crumple it into a ball. 

Eventually, though, his classes end and he can go home. When he gets upstairs, Jack can hear someone banging around in the second bathroom. He walks over to the open doorway and sees some guy he doesn’t recognize who must be the plumber lying on the floor. 

“You’re finally here,” Jack says, kind of more flatly than he intended to. It’s a good thing the guy’s here, right? Jack’s happy about it. He can finally get over the Bittle thing, now. It’s good. 

“Yup,” the guy says, and then for whatever reason, he _winks_. His expression makes Jack feel weirdly embarrassed, exposed or something, and it bugs him so much for the rest of the night that he goes to bed early, just so that he’s not awake and thinking about it. 

On Tuesday, Jack realizes he completely forgot to do an assignment that they were supposed to turn in that day. It’s just a short answer response, not anything really important. His professor immediately agrees to let Jack turn it in late when he apologizes after class, and it’s not even worth that much, just a couple of points on his participation grade, but Jack feels like complete shit about it anyway. He’s never forgotten to do an assignment before. 

On Wednesday, Jack and Bittle have their food seminar together. On the walk to class, Jack ends up talking inanely the entire way there about his plans for next semester. Bittle seems a little weirded out, frankly, but he’s too polite to tell Jack he’s talking too much. When they finally get to class, Jack focuses on his notes intently enough that he can almost stop being so aware of the warmth of Bitty’s body right there beside him. When class is over, he ends up making a stupid excuse and going to the library just so they don’t have to walk home together and repeat the whole awkward experience. 

On Thursday, Jack’s so keyed up that even Shitty notices. Jack doesn’t even resist when Shitty grabs a six-pack from the fridge and drags him out onto the roof. 

“I don’t know what’s going on, man,” Shitty says solemnly, “But you definitely need a beer.” 

Jack kind of fucking _does_ , so he sits out there with Shitty, and it’s nice, actually. It’s crisp, finally getting colder, and there's a bit of a breeze going. Shitty doesn’t make Jack talk about it, just sits next to him and drinks his own beer. Jack tips his head back. He’s trying to relax. The late afternoon sun feels good on his skin. 

Jack’s finishing his second beer, sort of debating whether or not he wants to open a third one, when Shitty claps him on the shoulder. 

“I gotta go, man,” he says. “I’m sorry. Lardo and I planned to hang out. I hope you feel better, though.” 

“Oh,” Jack says. He won’t have a third beer, then. “That's okay. Thanks.” 

Shitty gives him a long, worried look before he climbs back in through Jack’s open window. 

After a little while, Jack gets kind of bored sitting out there by himself, so he goes downstairs to see if anyone else is inside. It can be quiet on weeknights—Ransom and Holster are usually camped out in the library on Thursdays around this time—but most of the time there's someone around somewhere. 

Of course, when Jack steps into the kitchen, Bittle’s there, making some kind of muffins. Jack drops himself down in one of the chairs at the table when Bittle starts talking to him. The alcohol’s buzzing gently through Jack’s body. It’s nice to listen to Bittle chat aimlessly about his day while he works on the batter. Jack likes the way his voice sounds. He has a blissful couple of minutes where it seems like it’s all going to be fine, until the muffins go in the oven and Bittle turns around to lean back against the counter. 

That’s about when Jack realizes that his two beers were a _complete goddamn miscalculation_ , because he’s just drunk enough that he can't stop himself from trying to figure out how much of the bulge at the crotch of Bitty’s jeans his just the way the fabric looks, and how much of it could be his cock, and Jack is so, so screwed. 

Bittle gives him a kind of weird look. There might have been a question somewhere in his last couple of words that Jack forgot to answer. 

“Uh,” Jack says, as casually as he can manage. “What?” 

“I said, do you want a muffin with or without streusel? I made both kinds.” 

“Oh,” Jack says. “What kind of muffins are they?” 

Bittle frowns again, which means that he probably already mentioned that, and Jack just wasn’t listening. Probably because he was thinking about Bitty’s dick. Jack can’t help looking down again, just for a second, because Jack is officially the worst friend in the world. 

“Okay, what’s wrong with my pants?” Bittle asks, clearly exasperated. “You keep staring.” 

“Haha.” Jack’s laugh is completely unconvincing. “Hahahahaha." 

Bittle is still frowning. Jack is too drunk to handle this. 

“Why would I do that,” he adds, in case that helps. “I’ve never thought once about your penis.” 

“I—” Bittle’s eyes are so, so wide. 

Jack can’t believe that words that inappropriate actually came out of his mouth. He stands up so quickly that he almost loses his balance, swaying forward dangerously enough that he has to swing his arms out for balance. It’s mortifying in an already mortifying situation. Just what Jack needs, to fall drunkenly on his face right in front of Bittle. 

“Anyway,” Jack says, taking a couple of steps backwards toward the door. “I have homework to do so I’ll talk to you later, goodbye.” 

He flees before Bittle can respond. 

\- 

On Friday, they have morning practice again, but Jack just grinds his teeth together until all he can feel is the ache in his jaw. It does a pretty good job of distracting Jack from the way Bittle keeps looking over him. Jack doesn’t make eye contact with him. He doesn’t want to see Bittle’s expression. 

\- 

They win their game on Saturday, too, and it goes much better than the previous game. Jack channels all of his frustration and embarrassment into the game, and it makes him play hard but kind of sloppy. Bitty’s faster than Jack’s ever seen him, though, and he keeps getting the puck to Jack over and over again, enough that it doesn’t matter that Jack flubs a couple of passes. They win 4-2, and Coach Hall tells Jack that he has good spirit but needs to keep better focus. It makes him feel better, to hear that. Coach Hall only criticizes Jack when he’s played well, when he’s confident that Jack can do better. 

There’s an impromptu Haus party afterward, obviously, and Jack’s feeling good enough after the win that he stays downstairs for a while. He thinks he’ll probably go upstairs before it gets too crazy, but it’s early, and not too loud yet. It’s nice to just spend some time talking to Shitty. 

Jack doesn’t drink though, in light of what happened the other day. He feels like he did when he first got out of rehab—like he can’t trust himself when he's not sober—but that’s something Jack’s used to, even if it kind of sucks. It's frustrating to feel like he’s backsliding after having made so much progress, but at least Jack knows how to be sober at parties. He’s had plenty of practice slipping upstairs just before he starts to feel too awkward in a sea of drunk people. The first hour or so is usually fine, when no one’s had a chance to drink much yet. 

Shitty drags Jack into the first game of beer pong of the night, which Jack goes along with because Shitty offers to drink all his beer. It’s going okay, actually, until Jack looks up and sees Bittle and Lardo leaning against the wall of the hallway. They’re halfway watching the game but mostly just chatting, and once Jack notices them, he can’t _stop_ noticing them. He keeps finding himself looking their direction. 

Jack’s trying to be discreet about it, but then Bitty catches him looking. 

He holds Jack’s gaze over Lardo’s shoulder, deliberately tilts his hips forward. Jack swallows. 

“Hey!” Shitty claps Jack on the shoulder. “Your shot, man.” 

It takes Jack a moment to actually force his eyes away, anyway. He takes his shot—misses—and when his eyes flick back toward Bittle a moment later, he’s talking to Lardo again like nothing happened. There’s a sort of smirk on his face though, a little blush, like he’s pleased and maybe a little embarrassed. 

Jack looks down at his hands. It feels like he’s sweating. 

By the time they finally finish the fucking game—they lose to Dex and Nursey, who aren’t even any good at beer pong—Jack's completely frazzled. His face is hot, and he’s given himself a headache by being so anxious for the past half hour. 

It seems like as good a time as any to retreat to his room. Actually, probably the best time to retreat to his room would have been _before this party started_ , but it’s too late for that. Jack spends the absolute minimum amount of time he has to commiserating the loss with Shitty, and then he escapes upstairs. 

\- 

Jack’s lying on his bed, staring at his laptop screen and trying to read an article about the NHL, when he hears a knock at his door. It’s kind of late, a little past eleven, but he knows the party’s still going pretty strong downstairs. Maybe Shitty or someone is coming to try to drag him back downstairs again. Jack doubts he can be persuaded to leave his room, though. He changed into sweatpants and an old t-shirt earlier when he came upstairs, and he’s been considering trying to go to sleep for the past fifteen minutes. 

“Yeah?” Jack asks, and then Bittle’s opening the door. 

“Can I use your shower?” Bittle asks. He seems a little drunk, face flushed, but he sounds casual. Jack can’t figure out why he's asking. Sure, their shower is free—no tub juice for a party thrown together on such short notice—but Bittle has a perfectly good shower in his own bathroom. Unless Ransom and Holster have done something to the shower, now. Oh god. Jack doesn’t know if he can handle Bittle using his shower on a regular basis. 

It’s not like he’s going to say no, though. Bittle is his friend; there’s no normal reason for Jack to say no. It’d be rude and weird if he did. 

“Okay,” Jack says. He can’t help adding, maybe a little nervously, “Is there something wrong with the other—” 

“Nope,” Bittle says, and turns around. Over his shoulder he adds, “Thanks. I’ll get my stuff.” 

Jack blinks. 

Bittle comes back a moment later. He has a towel wound around his hips, but besides that he’s _completely naked._ He has some clothes and a couple bottles of shampoo or something pressed between the crook of his arm and his chest. His bare chest. Because he's naked. Bittle doesn’t say anything else, though, doesn’t even really look over at Jack, going right into the bathroom like it’s nothing. 

Jack wants to die. 

He’s still sitting up halfway on his bed, computer open on his lap. He tries to read the next paragraph of the article but he has no idea what any of it says. The shower turns on in the bathroom. Where Bittle is. Showering. Naked. Jack shuts the laptop. 

He puts the computer away on his desk and lies down flat on his back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He listens to the sound of the shower and tries not to think any thoughts at all about words like _soap_ or _wet_ or _slippery._ Downstairs, someone yells drunkenly, and there’s a chorus of cheers. Jack shuts his eyes. 

After a while, the shower turns off. When Bittle emerges, it feels like the room gets ten degrees warmer. It’s just the humid air rolling out from the bathroom—obviously. That’s all. Jack glances over without sitting up, catches a glimpse of Bittle in white shorts and a red tank top, rubbing the towel across the back of his head as he leaves Jack’s room. 

He leaves the door open behind him, though. Jack can hear the sounds of the party downstairs, louder without the sound of the shower so close by. Jack’s looking at the door, wondering if he should get up to close it again, when Bittle comes back. 

“Hey,” Bittle says, leaning back on the doorframe. Jack sits up, since it seems rude to talk to Bittle while he’s lying flat on his back. 

Jack can’t help way his eyes flick down over his body. He immediately wishes he hadn’t done it when he sees how tight Bittle’s shorts are, pulled taut over the bulge of his cock. The fabric clings to Bitty’s body, like his skin was still a little damp when he pulled them on. 

Jack forces his gaze away almost immediately, but there’s no way Bittle didn’t catch him looking. He is so fucked. 

“Hi,” says Jack. His voice comes out weird, too soft on the _h_ and breaking on the vowel when he overcompensates trying to talk louder. He doesn't know where to put his hands. Jack kind of wants to fold them over his lap, but it seems like that would be too obvious. Like it’d just draw attention to the embarrassing boner Jack’s had ever since Bittle first came into his room without a shirt on. He wishes he still had his computer on his lap. 

Bittle crosses his arms, tipping his head to the side to lean his temple against the doorframe. He looks so calm, this little half-smile on his face, and Jack can’t believe how collected Bittle looks when Jack feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. He forces himself to keep his eyes up near Bittle’s face, but it doesn’t really help. The strain of not looking at Bitty’s shorts is almost as bad as looking; he can see the patch of white at the bottom of his peripheral vision, and his brain keeps supplying the image of what it looked like anyway. 

What’s worse is that Bitty’s tank top looks great on him, shows off all the muscles in his shoulders and biceps. Jack sometimes forgets how strong he is, despite his size. Bittle has nice arms. 

“Were you, uh, planning on going to bed?” Jack asks, politely, trying to distract himself. Bittle’s outfit looks like what he usually wears to bed, kind of too revealing for a party, but usually Bittle stays up later than this on the weekends. 

“Soon, I think,” Bittle says, looking straight at Jack. He shrugs. “I got kind of partied out, downstairs.” 

“Yeah.” Jack laughs nervously, rubs the back of his neck. It feels warm under his hand. He’s probably red all over. God, isn't that fucking embarrassing? “Me, too. Obviously.” 

“You left kind of quick there, didn’t you?” Bittle says, chirping him a little. 

“Yeah,” Jack says. He’s too nervous to think of a way to chirp back. “Guess so.” 

He shifts on the bed, puts an arm over his lap against his better judgment. Bittle’s eyes flick down to track the movement. 

“Jack,” he says. 

“I’m—” Jack doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. _Sorry? So turned on I think I might faint?_ He bites his lip, looking past Bittle’s head so he doesn’t have to see his expression. 

Downstairs, Ransom shouts, “ _Fuck_ yeah,” and Jack twitches badly, realizing how close everyone is, that anyone could come upstairs and interrupt… whatever’s happening here. 

Jack doesn’t know what’s happening, but he’s sure he doesn’t want it to get interrupted. Some chanting has started up downstairs in response to whatever Ransom was excited about. It’s quickly just devolving into random yelling. 

Bittle’s looking over his shoulder. He actually seems a little startled, too—tense. He glances back at Jack, then down the hallway again. 

“Maybe you should—” Jack starts, and then doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t really know what he’s suggesting, but when Bitty looks back at him, his eyes are so, so dark. 

He drops his arms and steps past the door, all the way into Jack’s room, keeps holding Jack’s gaze as he does it. The eye contact is so intense that Jack wants to look away, but he can’t move. His heart is pounding. 

Bitty pushes the door shut behind him. 

“So,” he says, leaning back against the door, keeping his arms folded behind his back. He smiles a little crookedly. “See something you like?" 

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack says. His voice is so low—too low, just a rumble of sound, but Bitty hears him, and it's like a dam breaking. 

Bitty pushes himself off the door and stalks forward. Jack sits up, just manages to get to the edge of the bed before Bitty’s there. Jack grabs a handful of his shirt and drags him down. 

“Jack,” Bitty gasps, and then they’re kissing. 

Jack’s too relieved and too turned on to go slowly, but thankfully Bitty seems just as eager—he crawls right into Jack’s lap, kisses him deeply, and it's perfect, just perfect. 

When Bitty gets a hand under his shirt, Jack just yanks it off over his head. He cuts off Bitty’s surprised huff of laughter with his mouth. After a moment, though, Bitty pulls back and reaches for his own shirt. He goes more slowly, not as impatient maybe, fiddling with the hem a moment before he pulls it off. 

Bitty’s straddling Jack’s hips, and Jack just lies back, staring up at the beautiful expanse of exposed skin, the light blonde hair trailing down his belly. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling. Bitty ducks his head, but he comes when Jack pulls him down. 

It’s good, like that—Bitty’s on top of him, and the warm weight of his body feels great. He wraps a leg around his back, digs his heels in to pull Bitty down closer. It's been a long time. Jack’s forgotten how good it feels to have someone between his legs. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Jack says, forcing himself to look at Bitty’s face. “I—I’ve been thinking about it.” 

He’s suddenly nervous, which seems stupid when he’s had Bitty’s tongue in his mouth for the better part of the last ten minutes, but Bitty just pulls back to stare at him and says, “Holy shit, Jack.” 

“Yeah?” Jack can’t help the goofy smile that breaks across his face. It’s just—it’s _Bitty._

“Yeah,” Bitty says, soft. “Yeah, Jack.” 

Bitty sits all the way back on his heels, runs his hands over Jack’s knees and down his thighs. 

“Where do you keep—?” 

“Drawer,” Jack says, waving to the desk beside his bed. Bitty learns over, fishes around until he finds the lube and a condom. Bitty drops them on the bed, crawls forward and kisses Jack on the mouth. Jack’s pulse is thrumming under his skin—anticipation and nerves and everything else all twisting through him, but he feels good with Bitty’s hands on him. 

“Let’s get these off, huh?” Bitty says, and pulls off Jack’s sweatpants and his boxers in one go. The air is cool on Jack’s bare skin. He shuts his eyes. 

It’s too much, knowing Bitty’s there looking at him. Jack’s dick isn’t small, but he knows it’s nothing special, just average. He’s uncircumcised, which always seemed normal to him until some guy he hooked up with made a big deal about it Jack’s freshman year. With his eyes shut, it feels like the moment stretches forever, Jack’s mind filling with all the ways it could be going wrong—has Bitty changed his mind? What’s he doing? Does he not want to— 

Then Jack’s mind goes suddenly, blessedly blank, because Bitty takes him into his mouth. 

Jack groans—halfway in relief that Bitty still wants this, halfway because of how incredible the warm, wet heat of his mouth feels. 

When Jack blinks open his eyes, Bitty’s looking up at him. There’s something absurdly sweet about the way he’s smiling around Jack's cock, this little moment just for them. Then Bitty’s sliding a slick finger inside him, and Jack realizes that he must have paused before in order to pour the lube onto his hand. 

“Fuck, Bittle,” Jack says, but he’s already pressing back onto Bitty’s finger. God, it’s so much sensation, but Jack wants more of it, wants Bitty’s hands, his mouth, all of him. His legs are over Bitty’s shoulders, heels pressed into his shoulder blades. When Bitty slides in a second finger, Jack can’t help the noise he makes. 

“You can’t—I’m gonna—” Jack’s voice comes out wrecked, hardly coherent, but Bitty pulls his mouth off Jack’s cock, sits back on his heels to look down at him. One of Jack’s legs falls to the bed, but he keeps the other up on Bitty’s shoulder. 

“Already, huh,” Bitty says, a smug tilt to his voice. He pulls his fingers out halfway, twists them back in. “You like this, don't you?” 

“Yes,” Jack says, straining forward. Bitty pushes a third finger into him. “Please—god, _Bitty_ —” 

“How long has it been for you?” Bitty asks. 

It takes Jack a minute to understand the question, but then he says, “A—a while. A long time. I—” 

“Shhh,” Bitty says. He turns his head and kisses the inside of Jack's knee, where it’s still slung over his shoulder. “I'll go slow.” 

“For—for you?” Jack asks. It's hard to figure out the words to ask the question. “How long?” 

Bitty smiles gently. “It's been a little while for me, too. But don't worry, I remember how to do this.” 

“Yeah?” Jack asks. 

“Yeah,” Bitty says, and pulls his fingers out. “I've had some practice.” 

Jack's heart’s racing; he knows what's next. He watches as Bitty goes to push those little fucking shorts off. 

“God,” Jack says. “You know those shorts drive me crazy, right?” 

“I hoped they would,” Bitty says, as his cock springs free. He wasn’t wearing anything under the shorts. 

“Oh my god,” Jack says. How he could have ever doubted what he’d seen that morning, he doesn’t know. Bitty’s dick is _magnificent._

“Is this—” Bitty bites his lip. “I know it’s big, it's okay if you don’t—” 

“ _No_ ,” Jack says, because he absolutely wants Bitty inside him. Preferably as soon as possible. He can’t help sitting up a little, though, reaching out to touch. He runs his fingers lightly along Bitty’s shaft, feels the soft velvet of the skin there. He’s circumcised, much thicker than Jack, flushed pink at the head. It’s astonishing to Jack how everything about Bitty can be so beautiful _._

“Stop that,” Bitty says, breathily, a moment later. “You’re distracting me." 

He pushes down hard on Jack’s chest so that he's lying flat again. Jack spreads his legs, making room for Bitty to scoot closer. 

Bitty rummages through the covers until he finds the condom. Jack watches as he tears the packet open, rolls it on, tilts his hips, and then all Jack can think about is the blunt pressure of Bitty’s cock pressing into him. 

Jack hooks his other leg over Bitty's shoulders, says, “ _Please_ ,” without knowing exactly what he’s asking for. Bitty seems to understand, though, leans forward to bend Jack in half and press a kiss to Jack’s open mouth. 

Jack tries to kiss back, but doesn’t really manage it, overwhelmed and still adjusting. Bitty stays close, though, doesn’t move, just shares Jack’s breath. 

“Okay?” Bitty asks. Jack shifts experimentally, pushing himself forward onto Bitty’s cock. 

“Shit,” he says, almost laughing. It’s so, so good. “ _Shit,_ yeah.” 

Bitty smiles against Jack’s mouth, pulls back, fucks into him hard, and Jack doesn’t think it’s ever felt like this. He can't believe it’s happening, that it’s Bitty there above him, staring down at him like he’s the only thing in the world. He can’t help the little noises he’s making, little _uh uh uh_ s every time Bitty pushes into him. 

“You love it,” Bitty says, a little wonderingly. “You actually—” 

“Yes,” Jack says, “Bitty, I love it, I love it, I—I—” 

Jack’s chest is filled up with things he can’t say yet, shouldn’t even be thinking, so he just pulls Bitty down into a kiss, grunts into his mouth, hopes it says enough. 

\- 

Afterward, Bitty asks, “How long have you—uh—wanted to do that?” 

They’re lying curled up together on Jack’s bed, sweating and sticky. Jack’s blindingly happy. He accidentally came so hard that some of it got on Bitty's face, and Bitty wasn’t even mad—just swore and kept fucking him until he came too, shuddering between Jack’s legs. 

When Jack apologized, on the way back with from the bathroom with a wet washcloth, Bitty just laughed and said, “No, it was hot.” 

Jack doesn’t know if he’s ever been more thrilled to hear anyone say anything. 

“Jack?” Bitty asks, and Jack remembers he’s supposed to answer the question. 

“I, uh—last week, one day, you came in,” Jack says. 

Jack’s still kind of embarrassed, thinking about it, even though it all worked out. He curls closer into Bitty’s side, keeps his face hidden. Bitty’s hand is soft where it stokes down Jack’s back. 

“I was awake, and uh, you were hard, and I just—I saw how big—” Jack huffs a sigh. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Ah,” Bitty says. He takes his hand off Jack’s back, stretches his arms above his head, kind of laughs. “God, who would have guessed Jack Zimmermann was a size queen?” 

“Shut up,” Jack murmurs, a small smile pressed against Bitty’s neck. He’s laughing a little too, even though that’s not really what it’s about. If Jack’s honest with himself, he’s felt something for Bitty for a long time. He just couldn’t pretend his feelings were strictly friendly anymore when he kept jerking off to the thought of Bitty’s dick. Jack’s glad that it happened, though. It’s better now that he’s not lying to himself. 

He squeezes the arm wrapped around Bitty’s waist a little tighter, boneless and happily exhausted. It’s probably the best Jack’s felt in a long time. He sighs, curling closer, almost asleep already. 

\- 

Jack’s not sure how much time passes, but he wakes up to Bitty pulling away. 

“Where are you going,” Jack asks muzzily, eyes still shut. 

“Shh,” Bitty says. “I’m just getting the light." 

“Okay,” Jack says. 

He’s already falling back asleep. 

\- 

When Jack wakes up the next morning, Bitty’s gone. 

Jack frowns for a while, thinking about it. He’s surprised he didn’t wake up when Bitty got up. He’s usually such a light sleeper. It was the sound of someone (Bitty?) downstairs in the kitchen that woke him up in the first place, but Jack doesn’t remember when Bitty got out of bed. 

Eventually Jack decides it was probably just Bitty being there in general that helped him sleep so soundly. He’s had such a stressful week, and then he went and got laid and sorted everything out in the same night. It kind of makes sense that he slept a little more deeply than usual. He knows having sex sometimes has that effect on people, though before now Jack's never thought that applied to him. He always slept terribly when he was with Kent. Obviously all the drinking hadn’t helped with that, though, and he doesn’t know if he ever really spent the night with Kent sober. Being with Bitty clearly has a much better effect on him. 

Jack stretches, gets out of bed, goes downstairs, and finds it is indeed Bitty in the kitchen. He’s making coffee. 

“Hi,” Jack says happily, plopping down into one of the chairs. 

Bitty startles, then relaxes. “Hey,” he says, looking at Jack over his shoulder. “Sleep well?” 

Jack drops his chin into his palm, one elbow on the table, gazing up at the way Bitty’s hair curls behind his ear. He probably looks kind of dopey, but he doesn’t really care. 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Shockingly well, actually.” 

Bitty’s brows draw together for a moment before his face smoothes to blankness. He turns back around to pull some mugs out of the cabinet. 

“Well,” he says. “That’s good, then." 

Chowder comes into the kitchen a minute later, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

“Hey!” he says. “Wow, I am _so_ hungover!" 

He still sounds pretty cheerful to Jack. But that’s kind of how Chowder always sounds. 

“Did you crash on the couch?” Jack asks. Chowder sits down across from him at the table. 

“Duh,” he says. “I love that couch.” 

“Ugh,” says Bitty. “I’m going to get rid of that thing, one day." 

“Aw, no, Bits,” Chowder says. It’s an old argument. Jack just smiles. 

Bitty rolls his eyes and drops two mugs of coffee down on the table. He’s already put cream in Jack’s and cream and sugar in Chowder’s, just how they both like it. 

“Here y’all go.” Bitty goes back to pour his own coffee. 

Chowder takes a grateful sip, then looks up brightly. “Oh, hey, Bitty, are you going to make breakfast?” 

“Sure,” Bitty says. “What would you like?” 

Bitty’s busy with breakfast for a while, so Jack eventually goes upstairs to get started on some homework. Good to get it out of the way early. Then he’ll have more time later. Maybe he and Bitty could go walk around campus or something. 

\- 

Jack doesn’t see much of Bitty the rest of the day. He gets caught up in a paper he’s working on, and even though it’s not due for three weeks he ends up getting a pretty good rough draft going. Jack’s in such a good mood that it makes his focus perfect, and it feels good to be so productive. It goes a long way toward erasing how badly he feels about slacking off from school last week. 

That night, though, he’s sitting in the living room watching a documentary about World War II with Lardo. It’s really good, and Jack’s pretty into it, but when Bitty comes in the front door he gets distracted. He keeps looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen—he can hear Bitty clattering around, probably getting something together for dinner. Jack ends up kind of missing the last twenty minutes of the documentary because of it. He’s going to have to watch the ending again sometime later. 

When the credits roll, Lardo looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m gonna go see what Bitty’s up to,” Jack says, because there's no point to pretending that’s not what he’s doing. He’s not sure if they're going to tell everyone right away, but it’s Lardo. Jack’s not going to insult her by lying to her. 

Jack thinks he’s probably fairly transparent, anyway. 

“Cool,” Lardo says, scrolling through something on her phone. 

Jack stands up, goes into the kitchen. Bitty’s most of the way through eating a sandwich, finishing the second half, and Jack sits down across from him. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Bitty nods at him, still chewing. 

“Looks good,” Jack adds. The sandwich is some kind of panini, cheese oozing out the side. He’d steal a bite if the other half was still on the plate, but as it is, Bitty's holding the only remaining half. Jack feels a little embarrassed about outright asking him to hand it over so he can taste it—like it’s too coupley too soon. Jack doesn’t need to taste it to know it’s good, anyway. Bitty’s cooking is always good. 

Bitty finishes his sandwich after a little while, then leans back in his chair to look up at Jack. 

“So,” says Jack. 

“What’s up?” Bitty asks. 

Jack kind of waggles his eyebrows. He’s a too flustered to be more explicit with Lardo still in the next room. The silence lengthens until Jack’s sure he’s blushing again. 

“All right,” Bitty says, standing up. He puts his plate in the dishwasher, then turns around to go upstairs. 

Jack follows. 

\- 

A day later, they’re hooking up for the third time, Jack underneath Bitty while they’re making out. Jack runs a hand along the back of Bitty's thighs, up toward his ass. 

“Have you ever—?” Jack asks. 

“I—” Bitty says. “Yes. Once.” 

Jack immediately wants to know more about that. Who? When? High school, maybe, Jack thinks, but he wonders, could it have been at Samwell, maybe one of those dates Ransom and Holster set him up on, does Jack know the guy who— 

All that’s beside the point. Jack swallows, looks up at him. “Do you—” 

“No,” Bitty says, kind of edgy. “I don’t want to." 

“Okay,” Jack says. 

“I just don’t like it.” Bitty isn’t quite meeting Jack's eyes. 

“That’s okay,” Jack says, leaning up to kiss him, gently. When they pull apart, Jack says, “I, um—can I ride you?” 

Bitty just looks at him for a moment. Jack can’t read his expression, and he’s about to say they don’t have to when Bitty says, “Yeah, come on,” and starts tugging off Jack’s sweatpants. 

\- 

By the middle of the next week, Jack’s sure something’s wrong, but he has no idea what it is. 

It’s like he never sees Bitty anymore. They’re having sex all the time, but he can’t remember the last time they had an actual conversation. 

At first it seemed fine. Practice was great Monday morning, Jack feeling more focused than he had in a long time. Afterward, Bitty was pretty quiet as they walked to class together, but that had been okay with Jack. He just kept brushing his arm against Bitty’s shoulder, trying to say with his body what he didn’t know how to say out loud. He remembers smiling down at the pavement for most of the walk, how he thought to himself that it was kind of nice to just be quiet together. To enjoy each other’s company without having to speak. 

When the same thing happens on Wednesday while they’re walking to and from their food seminar together, though, it’s really started to bug Jack. It seems kind of weird to miss someone he’s had sex with five out of the past six days, but he still does. 

He thinks about it all day, then all through practice that afternoon. 

Jack thinks about how Bitty never sleeps the whole night in Jack’s room, and he starts to wonder if Bitty even stayed that first night. When Jack really thinks about it, he’s not sure if Bitty came back after turning off the light. He just assumed he'd come back, because Jack wanted him to. 

So when Jack’s done with class the next day, Jack’s determined for them to just—spend some time together without having sex. He'll even talk to Bitty about it explicitly if he thinks he needs to. Jack’s not great with words—it’s always felt easier, more honest, for him to just show someone how he feels with his actions. But Jack’s willing to talk about it if that’s what they need to do to sort it out. This thing with Bitty… Jack really wants it. He thinks there’s not a lot he wouldn’t be willing to do to make it work. 

A little later, with that resolve in mind, Jack goes upstairs to see if Bitty’s in his room. His door is open, and Jack stands there for a moment, just watching the line of Bitty’s back. He’s sitting at his desk working on his laptop, one foot pulled up onto the seat of his chair, knee pulled up to his chest. From where he’s standing, Jack can see how he’s kind of hunched over, and Jack thinks he’s probably resting his chin on top of his knee. Bitty sits like that sometimes when he’s really relaxed. Jack thinks it’s cute. 

“Hey,” Jack says. Bitty spins around in his chair, straightening up when he sees Jack standing there. He drops his foot to the floor. 

“What’s up?” Bitty asks. 

“I, uh—” Jack kind of stutters, embarrassed suddenly for no real reason. 

Bitty smirks. “That desperate for me already? We had sex this morning, Jack.” 

“No, I—” Jack thinks he’s probably blushing. They did have sex this morning, when Jack ran into Bitty in the hallway before breakfast. Jack's hair was still damp from his shower. Bitty had taken ahold of Jack’s shirt in the hallway, said, “Come on,” and Jack had let himself get pulled into Bitty’s room. 

Jack had to take another shower, afterward. 

But that’s not why he’s here now. He just wanted to—watch some TV, maybe. Talk about school or hockey or whatever. He hadn't really thought about it. 

Bitty rolls his eyes and stands up. “Oh, all right,” he says. “Close the door.” 

Jack does, still intending to ask if they can—listen to some music, maybe, but then Bitty’s pulling off his shirt. 

Several minutes later, Jack thinks, _Well, we can still hang out after._

\- 

They don’t, though. Bitty shoos Jack out when they’re done so that he can work on his homework. 

“See you at dinner,” Jack says, as Bitty shuts the door. 

Jack stands there for a while in the hallway, just staring at Bitty’s door. That wasn’t what he’d planned. 

\- 

During sex, Jack says, “You’re amazing. Fuck, Bitty, I think you’re amazing.” 

He wishes he could say it some other time. He knows it would mean more if he said it while they were clothed. 

He almost manages to do it, once. They’re in the kitchen, and Bitty’s making coffee and starting a pie. Jack sits at the table and watches him work, watches the line of Bitty’s shoulders as he measures out flour into a bowl for the crust. The words are right there if only Jack could open his mouth to say them, but when the coffee’s done Bitty puts the mug down in front of Jack without even looking at him, and Jack doesn’t know how. 

\- 

At the end of two weeks, Jack realizes he’s miserable. It’s one of the worst realizations of his life. It’s worse than waking up to find out he'd almost died but hadn’t quite managed it—that he was going to have to face his parents and see their reaction to all that he’d done and failed to do. Back then, Jack thought that was probably the worst thing that would ever happen to him, but at least he hadn’t been _surprised._ Jack had already known he was a disappointment, long before he woke up in that hospital bed. 

But this—the way Jack feels about what’s happening with Bitty—is a surprise, and that makes it so much worse. He expected it to be so good between them. He expected to be happy. The fact that he’s not feels like a punch to the gut. 

It’s not even that Jack wants to stop. He wants it so, so much, even if his stomach bottoms out every time he wakes up to find Bitty’s left in the night. It’s stupid to keep being upset about that, because Bitty’s never stayed until morning. After sex, as Jack’s falling asleep with Bitty’s back settled against his chest, he keeps thinking that it might be different, this time. It never is. 

Jack thinks he could handle it, though—could manage despite the ache in his chest—if Bitty seemed happy. But he doesn’t. He's more sarcastic than Jack’s ever seen him, more closed off, and Jack doesn’t know why it changed. 

When Bitty first came to his room, Jack assumed that he maybe… That there was something there. They were such good friends, and Jack just figured… friends who want to have sex with each other, that’s dating, right? But he must have been wrong, because it feels like Bitty’s pushing him away and the only reason Jack can think of is because he doesn’t want what Jack wants. He’s trying not to let Jack get too close. It hurts, but Jack thinks he could be okay with it. Even if the sex is good—great, mind-blowing—Jack’s not willing to keep having it at the expense of his friendship with Bitty. 

If what they’re doing isn’t what Bitty wants, if isn’t making him happy, Jack doesn’t want to do it either. He doesn’t know where it went wrong, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever he thought they might have had in a perfect world… It's irrelevant. The world’s not perfect. What Jack knows is that he’d do anything to make Bitty happy. That’s what matters. 

\- 

Jack still has trouble actually working up the nerve to talk to him about it. He knows what he’s decided, but it’s still so hard. It’ll be over, he knows, once Jack finds the courage to bring it up. And Jack just… doesn’t want to see Bitty look relieved, doesn’t want to hear him admit that Jack's right. That he doesn’t want Jack the same way Jack wants him. 

A part of Jack thinks that if he keeps trying, maybe he can bring Bitty around. Like he can just _make him_ feel the same way. It’s stupid, and Jack knows it won’t work. 

He still can’t stop himself from asking Bitty to stay the night in his bed, just one time. Jack just wants to do it once. Just to see how it feels to wake up with Bitty next to him. If he has it just once, Jack thinks he might have the strength to give it all up. 

Jack has his arms wrapped around Bitty when he asks—they’re naked, still breathing heavily, and Jack says it all in one breath, trying to get it out before Bitty can pull away. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Bitty says, “Okay, Jack.” 

The lights are already off—Bitty turned them off when he came in—and Jack just presses his face into Bitty’s warm shoulder. He's glad he doesn’t have to get up. That they can just stay like this. 

It only takes a couple of minutes for Jack to fall asleep. 

\- 

Jack wakes up when Bitty shifts away the next morning, and for a moment Jack is so, so happy. Sunlight streams in through the window, illuminating the pale expanse of Bitty’s back. His hair is golden in the light. 

Bitty’s sitting at the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, and Jack watches as he hunches over, puts his head in his hands. 

“ _Lord_ ,” Bitty whispers, and it sounds like a sob. 

It’s like a lance of pain straight through Jack’s chest. Bitty takes a deep breath, pushes it out slowly, and Jack says, “Bitty?" 

“Fuck,” Bitty says, standing up all at once. He looks back over his shoulder with this horrible fake smile pasted on his face. “I didn't realize you were up.” 

Jack pushes himself up with one arm. He’s never—he’s never _felt_ like this. Jack has plenty of experience feeling like the worst kind of asshole, but this is… it’s… was Bitty _crying?_

“Bitty, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m fine,” he says, turning away from Jack. “Nothing's wrong.” 

It’s such an obvious lie that Jack says, “No, _tell me_ , Bitty, what’s going on?” 

He doesn’t know when it happened but he’s standing up, hand reaching out to touch Bitty’s shoulder, pulling him around so that Jack can see his face. Bitty flinches away, but before he does it Jack sees that his eyes are red, and Jack knows, he was, _he was crying_ , _he was_ — 

“Can we just talk about this?” Jack asks. He doesn’t want to do this now, doesn’t want to do it at all, but Bitty was crying and Jack has to—has to fix it. He can’t keep doing this anymore, not when— 

“Just leave it.” 

“ _Please_ ,” Jack says. “Bitty, I—” 

“I have to go to class, Jack,” Bitty says. He’s going for the door handle, and Jack hardly thinks as he reaches out to grab Bitty's other hand. 

“After class—” he begs. “Please, Bitty, just—meet me at Annie’s?” 

Bitty freezes, still turned toward the door. He doesn’t pull his hand away, though, just stays there with one hand on the door and one hand in Jack’s. 

“Okay,” he says. “Fine, Jack. Okay. I can meet you at 11 when my class gets out.” 

“Thank you,” Jack says, not really knowing why, and then Bitty pulls his hand away and he’s gone. 

\- 

And— 

And— 

Jack’s a mess. 

He skips his morning class, just sets his alarm for 10:30 and crawls back into bed. He pulls the covers over his head and doesn’t move until his phone starts beeping at him. 

He changes without looking, just pulling on the first things he finds, and walks to Annie’s on autopilot. He’s come here enough times by now that his body knows the way. Enough times with Bitty there beside him. 

Jack’s never going to be able to go to Annie’s again. 

That’s okay, though. It was always Bitty who liked the fancy coffees. 

Jack gets there early, but Bitty’s already at a table in the corner when Jack pushes open the door. 

Jack sits across from him, says, “Hi.” 

Bitty looks up, gives Jack half a smile, then stares back down into his cup of coffee. His hands are wrapped around the cup, and he looks so small and still that it makes Jack’s heart clench all over again. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Come on, Jack,” Bitty says after a while. His voice is empty. “You’re the one who wanted to talk.” 

Jack swallows, lets his breath out slowly. Okay. He can do this. 

“I don’t know—if I did something, or—” He stops, looks at his hands. “It just seems like, you’re not happy.” 

Bitty lifts one shoulder, a miserable half-shrug. 

“So maybe,” Jack says. “We shouldn’t keep—” 

“Okay.” Bitty cuts him off. “That’s fine. Whatever." 

He sounds so hurt, and Jack doesn’t know how to make it better. He just needs Bitty to _understand_. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Jack says. “I'm… I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to be upset—” 

That actually makes Bitty laugh, a mean sound, sharp and bitter. 

“Come on, Jack,” Bitty says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fine." 

He doesn’t seem fine to Jack at all, and he’s about to say that when Bitty says, “Do you think this is the first time some guy's been interested in me just because I have a big dick?” 

Jack’s blood runs cold. 

“What?” he asks. Jack has no idea how this all got so fucked up. 

“We were just messing around, I know that,” Bitty says. 

“That’s not—” Jack says. 

“It’s not like I thought you asked me here to Annie’s so we could go on a date.” Bitty laughs bitterly again. “I knew what was coming.” 

Jack can’t manage to speak. He doesn’t know how—Bitty’s gotten everything _so wrong—_

“I’m used to it.” Bitty huffs a sigh. “It never lasts long." 

“Look,” says Jack, finally finding his voice. “It’s not like that." 

Bitty narrows his eyes. 

“It wasn’t like that for me,” Jack says. Bitty has to understand that. Jack wasn’t—wasn’t _using_ him _._ He’d never— 

Jack rubs a hand over his face. “It wasn’t until recently that I… realized. But I’ve always kind of…” 

Bitty’s gone pale, staring at him from across the table. 

“When you first—I thought we might—I don’t know. Be starting something," Jack says, grits his teeth, forces himself to add, “You know, real.” 

“Oh,” Bitty says. 

“I really like you,” Jack says. 

Bitty stares at Jack, bites his lip, then drops his head to stare down at his coffee. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear,” Jack says. “I thought it was really obvious.” 

“It—wasn’t,” Bitty manages. 

“I can’t believe you thought I was _using_ you.” Jack rubs his hands over his face again. He sighs. “I’ve been crazy about you all year.” 

“Oh.” Bitty looks up at Jack again, still kind of dazed. “All year?” 

“Yeah,” Jack says. He feels like he’s kind of run out of words. Bitty still hasn’t said—Jack thinks maybe he’s just shocked into speechlessness. It’s going to be okay, probably—it’s not like Bitty seems _upset_ —but Jack still wishes he would say something. 

“I’m. I—” Bitty says. “I'm sorry. For how I—it just hurt too much, when I thought none of it mattered to you.” 

“Yeah,” Jack says. It makes sense. He still feels horrible. He can’t believe he made Bitty feel like that, even by accident. “I get it.” 

Bitty nods to himself. 

“Okay,” he says, and Jack risks a little smile. 

“Okay?” 

Bitty smiles back at Jack. It’s a real one, and Jack’s heart is so, so full. 

“Yes,” Bitty says, grinning wider. He sounds _buoyant_. “Okay." 

Jack kind of feels like shouting. Instead he says, “I really want to kiss you. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

“You can kiss me,” Bitty says. “Probably shouldn’t do it in public, though.” 

“Oh,” says Jack. He’d sort of forgotten where they were. 

“Let’s go back to the Haus,” Bitty says, laughing. “I've been cheated of two weeks’ worth of kissing you with the knowledge that you— _like_ me.” He’s blushing as he says it. 

“I like you,” Jack confirms. He stands up, bumps shoulders with Bitty as they go out the door. 

\- 

They’re lying in Bitty’s bed a while later, just cuddling, when Bitty says, “I—lied, before.” 

“Oh?” Jack asks. He runs a hand lightly along Bitty’s back, pushing up under his shirt a little. Bitty’s skin is so soft. 

“I’ve never—um.” He's blushing. “I’ve had sex plenty of times before, uh, with me on top, but I’ve never actually—” 

“Oh,” Jack says. 

“No one ever wanted to,” Bitty’s says. He sounds small, brittle. “They just wanted…” 

Jack squeezes him tighter. 

“We can do it now,” Bitty adds. “I just didn’t want my first time to be with someone where it—didn’t matter.” 

“Oh,” Jack says. 

“I think I—” Bitty’s bright red, now. “I'd like it to be you.” 

Jack holds Bitty tight against his chest. He’s overwhelmed, and so, so happy. 

“Let’s wait,” Jack says, after a moment. “I'm here with you. There’s no rush.” 

It feels a little silly to say, considering just how many times they’ve had sex at this point, but Jack thinks it’s important, so he adds, “I think it'd be a good idea to, um, take it slow. In the future.” 

Bitty laughs into Jack’s collarbone. 

“Okay,” he says. 

Jack rubs his hand down Bitty’s back again. He’s close enough to smell Bitty’s shampoo, something sweet and clean. Jack breathes it in, exhales softly. 

Quietly, Bitty adds, “I’m here with you, too, you know.” 

Jack kisses Bitty’s hair. He feels warm all the way through with Bitty curled against his chest. 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “You are, aren’t you?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m super new to this fandom and hardly know anyone yet! But I’m on tumblr! My main is [fragilehuge](http://fragilehuge.tumblr.com) and my CP sideblog is [jacksbits](http://jacksbits.tumblr.com). Come say hi! I’ll yell about fictional hockey players with you. It’ll be great. :)


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